Be With You
by Melpomene melancholica
Summary: Patience or survival? Hope or sanity? Now, Relena is forced to choose.


(May 3, 2005 - In compliance with FFnet's warning to remove lyrics from fanfiction, I have done just that. ) This fic was originally written with the song "Be With You" by Enrique Iglesias)

Now I'm going to attempt to write a Heero-Relena fic. For the first time, I'm going to type directly into the computer instead of writing it down first.

Be With You

Now I'm going to attempt to write a Heero-Relena fic. For the first time, I'm going to type directly into the computer instead of writing it down first.

Be With You

"Miss Darlian, are you all right?"

The blond young woman merely nodded, casually brushing off the shards of glass stuck on her designer suit.

"Vice Foreign Minister," said another voice. "We might have to request for the medics' presence. Just to ensure your safety, ma'am."

"There's no need for that," she answered firmly. "I said, I'm fine."

"But the shrapnel-"

"All that matters is that I'm in one piece." Her voice was sharp and cold. "Just get me another room, please. If you don't mind, I do want to have a night's sleep. I'm tired."

All of it was true. Everything she said was true. It was neither a fearless façade she set up for the press, nor an act to taunt the failure of her enemies. She really was unshaken by that minor incident. She had escaped unscathed, too, when the homemade bomb exploded. Indeed, the unprofessional assassination attempt dulled in comparison with all she experienced during the wars. . The pressure of having the weight of the world on your shoulders. The helplessness of knowing you can do nothing while the soldiers, fellow humans, slaughtered one another. The guilt of knowing you are protected while others more fragile than yourself are exposed to the fury of fate's play. The fear of knowing you might not live to see another dawn to somberly shine down the war-ravaged earth. The night's event was nothing at all.

She sighed. Even so, the young attendant in front of her, ironically a few years older than her, was just trying to do his job. This is all protocol, found in the An Idiot's Guide to Body Guarding A Politician/Celebrity/Whatever. Even if she felt like she could not stand another moment in a devastated room bustling with soldiers, agents, investigators and media people, she consented to the prodding and poking the rescue team was bound to perform. And if it was a really bad day, she will probably receive a request for an autograph.

Looking around, a sea of unfamiliar faces greeted her. Each of the faces had agitated looks about them, asking. How did this happen? What was the flaw in the security? Which group planned this?

On and on they fussed, buzzing like bees, puttering around like ants. She was still, after all, a celebrity and was being treated accordingly. At that moment, though, she did not feel particularly special. She felt downright the opposite; the sole person she wanted doting from was unseen anywhere. Even in that thick crowd that filled her room, even though each individual in that crowd was there to ensure her comfort, she sensed a familiar feeling in her gut.

She sat through the medical examination with as much patience as she could muster, not even squirming under the scrutiny of the doctor. She factually answered all the questions hurled at her by the brusque leader of the bomb squad, not even bothering to think about reporting the fellow's unethical rudeness to his superiors. She was going to be nice and pleasant to everyone and be unaffected by all this.

She was grateful when they finally led her to a new room. Other distinguished individuals have taken most of the other special rooms and she was left with one of the cheaper ones. It was much smaller than the penthouse, the apartment she just left on the topmost floor, but it suited her fine. She actually found the new place to her liking, simple and elegant in its designs, so unlike the grandiose effect of the VIP rooms.

She tried to relax, curling on the bouncy softness of the couch. Hanging her head upside down with her legs dangling off the armrest and her torso arched in an uncomfortable twist, a very queer position for one of her status especially since she was attired in mini-skirt, she scoured the magazines available.

A fashion magazine? No, such things promote low self-esteem and self-deprecation. She may be at par with some models when it comes looks, maybe figure and fashion sense but seeing the array of beautiful people will only make her brood on the reasons behind his disinterest. She tossed it away.

The newspaper and the like are out of the question. She had had enough of politics even before the summit neared its adjournment and she was not looking forward to being reminded of the topics she and her colleagues have debated upon all day nor was she interested in the barbs of criticism being directed at her and others. She flung it across the room.

Upon throwing everything around her in mild irritation, she straightened up and opted for the tube. Opening the twenty-inch, flat screen, colored television, she surfed through the channels wrinkling her nose in distaste as she found each show unsatisfactory. Tired though undefeated, she keyed in the code for Pay-Per-View without even bothering to see what was on. She groaned in despair as she discovered that the movie playing was a cheesy old black-and -white romance film. Feeling sorry for the few bucks wasted, she settled for watching it anyway.

Who was she kidding? Nothing can relieve her of her distress. Only one person can and he certainly was not here.

In fact, the old film made her even more depressed. Watching disinterestedly, she saw without seeing and heard without hearing. Unconsciously, her brain gathered the images that entered her eyes and spun a foolish vision. She saw herself in place of the actress and in place of the lead male, a brunette with messy hair and piercing Prussian blue eyes.

Shaking her head, angry at her silly girlish imaginings, she clicked off the TV. Rising from her seat, she sauntered to the stereo and settled for some relaxing music. Then, she drifted off to her window.

She had no need to go out into the small balcony. She could see the city spread out before her through the glass doors leading outside. Instead of the various constellations of the stars, all there was were the multi-colored lights of the metropolis.

One cannot say that the city at night was not attractive for it certainly was. Seeing the view for Miss Darlian, however, was like beholding a tiny snowflake on ones hand, beautiful but cold, icy. The time to admire was also fleeting. One moment the unique formation of crystallized water was in your hands, the next there was nothing but a formless drop, just like people of the urban world down below. Everyone moved swiftly in their private realms, ignoring the others all around them, immersed in their own thoughts, in their own worries, in the busy life of the corporate world.

Evidence of workaholics working overtime can be seen on the studs of brightness dotted on the various buildings around. The colorful neon lights, flashing and flirting, were signs of the bustling nightlife. The thought of clubs and bars did not comfort her at all. She was tempted to finish some paperwork though. Perhaps, if she immersed herself in labor she would have less time to think and brood.

Disturbed by the seemingly callous ephemeral urban life, she turned away from the window. Instead, she listlessly wandered around the room, twirling in synch with the slow music. As the cozy little room transformed into a palatial ballroom, she wrapped her arms around herself imagining the touch of her longed-for dance partner. Eyes half shut, she left everything to her feet, which, without the semblance of control from her conscious mind, remembered the long-forgotten steps of the dream dance.

Wham!

And she was jolted back to reality by a nasty smack of cold marble on the face. Eyes popping open in surprise and momentary pain, she was confronted by the stone wall separating the rest of the room from the bathroom. Feeling the bridge of her nose to see if it was still whole, she stomped off to the mini-bar, face smarting from both the collision and her embarrassment.

" What is wrong with me!" she exclaimed. "I really must be losing it. Dammit."

Now deeply disturbed by her wandering mind, she absentmindedly grabbed a can of juice from the tiny refrigerator and finished it off in one swig. Wiping her mouth with her sleeve carelessly, she prodded herself to the bathroom for a hot shower.

_All I need is sleep_, she assured herself repeatedly. _It couldn't be him again. I should be fine after those sessions of therapy._

Shaking her head, she twisted the knob of the hot shower. While letting the water heat, she positioned herself before the mirror, scrutinizing her image in spite of herself. Frank sky blue eyes peeped back at her, serious but rather unfriendly right now, so unlike a typical politician's leer. They were not that bad, though she preferred more serious, darker pair of uniquely blue eyes.

She tilted her head to one side, nibbling on her lower lip thoughtfully. Really her face was not homely or anything. She reached up and undid her hair. The golden tresses came tumbling down her shoulders, a little wavy from the long period it stayed twisted on her head. She fluffed it away from her face. Not bad either. Rather, her hair was in a perfect condition, having been pampered by expensive beauty salon products.

Setting aside modesty and demureness, she thought herself considerably pretty.

_Of course_, she thought wryly. _It'll be a shame if Milliardo appears even prettier than I do._

Probably, others, too, thought her attractive. She does have a considerable amount of admirers and suitors though overall ignored them and politely turned down their offers of dates. She usually used her tight schedule as an excuse, which is true. Of course, if a certain pilot did ask her out she would rearrange her whole organizer and near future just to make space.

Fat chance. He has probably even forgotten she existed at all, which was why she has tried so hard to bury his memories in the darkest corners of her mind. He was driving her crazy, not only interfering with her work, but also warping her psychology. He was an addiction, a drug that has be flushed out of her system now that it was impossible to get a regular dosage. Otherwise, she would be destroyed by the imbalance.

She shook her head, both in anger and in annoyance.

_Ugly, ugly, ugly…_

Pushing the unpleasant thoughts of her head, she redirected her attention back to her reflection. Seeing the fogged glass, she deduced the temperature of the water to be already satisfactory. However, the blurry image of herself that her eyes conveyed to her brain was not entirely due to the condensed vapor blanketing the mirror.

Scowling ferociously, she blinked back the tears threatening to overflow from her eyes. Distressed more than ever, she hastily peeled off her clothes and took her shower. She stood for a long time under the rush of warm, almost scalding water, letting strength of its fall massage her work-beaten body, letting the flow wash away the awful feelings that multiplied inside her.

After finally stepping out dripping wet from the tub, she quickly rubbed herself with a towel and donned a bathrobe. Changing immediately into a thin satin nightgown, she clicked off the lights and catapulted herself on her springy bed, wet hair and all. Snuggling underneath the thick comforter, she shut her lids tightly, resolving to sleep. Grimly fighting unrelentingly, she banished the face of the young man that was forever present, appearing whenever she closed her eyes. And so she drifted to light sleep.

Relena was jerked unceremoniously out of sleep for no apparent reason and found it impossible to return to its oblivious comfort. Squinting to see her surroundings using the scant light seeping from outside, she groped for the lamp switch. Her vision nebulous from sleep still lingering in her eyes, she rose groggily, sparing a sideway glance towards the clock radio at her bedside to determine the hour.

_1:15 in the morning for chrisake, she groaned. I've only been asleep for half an hour. At this rate, I'll be snoring at the meeting tomorrow._

Feeling irascible about her body's refusal to cooperate with her schedule, she waddled sullenly to the makeshift kitchen. En route, she clicked on the light, moving the control of the light diffuser to a less intense setting so as to be kind to her eyes and to match the environment with her pensive mood. Now wide-awake, she paced the room, thinking of a way to fall asleep. Knowing from her past experience, she knew it was hopeless when her insomnia struck. Shrugging coolly in resignation, she decided to have a little drink by herself. At least, she would not be bothered by the emotional reasons behind her lack of sleep when she was drunk.

With the eyes of a connoisseur, she quickly scanned the contents of the mini-bar, rejecting most of the contents with disdain.

_Too light_, she complained.

Jerking the refrigerator open, she brought out some ice and proceeded to stir up her most potent recipe, a highly explosive cocktail of liquors that would scandalize even the worse of the alcoholics. Hell. If she was going to be sleepy all day tomorrow, why not give herself a hangover and a more valid reason to miss her insufferable duties? Either way, she would not be able to accomplish much.

Finally satisfied with the panacea she cooked up, she sauntered to the glass door leading outside. Stopping for a while to unlatch the lock, she inadvertently saw her reflection, her face gaunt and haggard without the thick layers of make-up. This was not merely the effects of her travails as a public servant. This was from anorexia nervosa, a condition she had in the not too distant past still fresh in her memory.

Angry at what she was reminded of, she viscously punched the glass door with her free fist, venting her frustration on the inanimate object. Thankfully, the glass did not shatter and she was merely left with a smarting knuckle not a bleeding one with broken glass stuck to it. Sighing at the loss of her control, she shook her head and slipped outside, gasping at the sudden rush of the icy wind that tore at her barely clothed body.

Yes. This is Relena Peacecraft, Princess of the Sanc Empire, one-time Queen of the world.

Barely a year ago, she had been fighting melancholia, a mental disorder marked by severe depression and apathy. She neglected her work, resorted to self-starvation, and lapsed to alcoholism. Alarmed, her family and friends rushed to her aid, desperate to find the cause and, more importantly, the solution to her condition but their attempts did not stand a chance against her stonewalling. Time and time again, she has proven her determination and again she has proven herself unconquerable as she refused all help.

All these was hidden from those outside her circle of close friends, especially the media. Her friends managed all her work for a while until one day she just stood up from the corner she was stuck in and declared herself free from bondage. Staring at her bleeding wrists, she screamed for help, an affirmation of her will to live, and so she was saved.

Presently, she mockingly smiled to herself at the memory, taking a small sip from her drink. She realized how stupidly lugubrious she was being. Not only was she losing hope on her love, she was allowing her problems to drag her down, to deter from her goal of achieving universal peace. Unwilling to accept defeat, she voluntarily attended psychotherapy.

It took quite a while for her to "forget" her grievances. She took a short respite from her work and lived in seclusion at the Sanc palace with her brother and his wife. Noin and Zechs and visits from Sally, Hilde and the others helped a lot to distract her from ruminating on dull subjects. When the psychoanalyst was finally satisfied with her progress, she was allowed to work. She threw herself to her duties diligently, keeping herself focused on her work alone. Of course, she was still staying with Milliardo and Lucrezia "to keep the huge place occupied", they said. She knew they just wanted to make sure she was safe.

This was the first time she had to be separated from them ever since her lapse into depression. Usually, even if she had to cross astronomical units, she will go home despite the high costs of traveling. This summit was out of her control, though. She had no choice but to stay in a hotel and spend a few nights away from home. None of her close friends was available to accompany her. Sally Po had her responsibilities as a doctor while Hilde Maxwell was detained by household worries. Though Noin would have gladly dropped any of her engagements, it was her physical condition that hindered her. Space travel was not that secure for pregnant mothers and her husband would hear none of it, even for his sister.

_Idiot_, she thought.

No wonder she's feeling low again. She was so far away from her sanctuary, from the warmth of the embers of family life. Not only that, the city air seemed so… tense. In the country, where her home was, even if she was alone at night, she would have gone outside on the balcony and be calmed by the exquisite serenity of nature.

"Heero Yuy this is all your fault," she muttered, taking a swig from her glass.

She leaned against the railing to look at the streets several stories below, unaffected by the great height and the fierce gales howling around the building. She seemed unreachable by the glib hands of the wind for she was warmed by the heat radiated by the chemical reactions inside her body. Feeling light headed, she stared below to the dark abyss of the night-shrouded alleys, only the wrought iron trellis keeping her from plummeting hundreds of feet to the hard unforgiving ground and meeting a gory death.

_A gunshot wound might be better_, she thought morbidly.

She imagined staring down the cold barrel of a gun and meeting the equally steely glare from the gunner. Why not?

"Damn you," she mouthed. "It's better if you had killed me then rather than let me die a slow agonizing death from the emotional wounds you have inflicted on me."

Again delusional reminiscences rose before her. She felt his lips against hers, a memory from more than seven years ago. She watched as the same man turned his back from her, as he had uncountable times. She listened as he whispered earnestly in her ear the last time she saw him, felt the feathery tickle of his breath as he held her close, pleading, and the steady rise and fall of his chest against hers.

_Oh, shit_, she moaned.

Finally breaking the dam of her control, tears erupted from her eyes. Stifling a sob, she rubbed her wet cheeks in annoyance. She brought the glass to her lips and discovered its emptiness. In her rage, she flung it furiously across the empty space before her, punctuating her clumsy throw with a sniffle.

"Damn you!" he whispered after the falling crystal in a worn raspy voice. "Come back and be nice to me, you asshole! Damn you… come back…"

Her eyes, usually the color of the sky early in the morning, was glazed white with pain. They followed the projectile on its way down the path gravity prescribed, seeing with out registering any image in her brain. It's swift barely visible descent was hypnotic, the oscillation of the silver light it reflected from a billboard across the road beckoning, mysteriously. Would a falling human body be as enchantingly graceful?

_Why not?_ Relena found the thought appealing.

It would be nice wouldn't it? With the world rushing around you, the winds chanting your requiem, it's a very poetic end. Wouldn't be nice to be hugged by the cold hands of the night?

At least, you would not be alone. Wouldn't it feel good to be so sought after, having the earth pull you towards it so possessively?

She closed her eyes, imagining herself drifting aimlessly with the air currents. Perhaps in flight the friction would produce heat and it would not be too cold. Perhaps, the wind would take her to the stars or to all those imaginary places she dreamed of as a child. Maybe, she'd even get to heaven, the place of rest and everlasting peace where there was no hate, war, bigotry, loneliness, sorrow.

_Let go, let go, let go…._

She swayed on her feet precariously, no longer in control of her sense of balance. Slowly, as if charmed by the mantra of the air around her, she tipped forward to embrace the darkness of the night…. and of her soul.

Suddenly, an arm reached from behind her and locked her in a firm grip. Shocked and panic-stricken, she pushed it away. He released her but the force sent her stumbling in a corner, hair concealing her face.

Nonchalantly, she lifted her head, no longer caring if another assassin has come to take her life. Sluggishly, the image in front of her fell into place, and she recognized a specter of the past.

Taking in her bare feet and lack of insulating clothing, his eyebrows quirked. They fully collided when his eyes met her stoned gaze. The cold unascertainable eyes on her unnerved him, making his blood run cold. He never realized that this was the usual expression his own eyes held.

"Heero."

"Relena."

Relena groped along the wall, supporting herself as she rose from the sorry pile on the tiled floor. She turned away immediately, refusing to acknowledge his presence.

"Stay away," she gasped, practically hyperventilating. "I can't take it anymore. Stop playing with my head!"

Alarmed beyond bounds, he swept her in his arms and held her close. She flailed for a while, beating him with closed fists like a young child being admonished by a parent. He held her securely as she struggled until she finally slumped against his solid chest. He felt warm liquid wet his shirt.

"You're real," she repeated over and over again. "You're real."

He held her more tightly.

All of a sudden, she punched him. Taken by surprise, he relinquished his hold, blood dripping from his nose.

"Bastard!" she said in a ghost of a voice. "You actually think it's as easy as all that? Have you any idea what I've been through?"

Heero lowered his eyes. "No," he confessed. "I don't."

"Just in case you still haven't noticed," she said in a cold voice. "I'm going nuts. Because you promised me you'll never leave and I waited for you for years and years and…."

She broke into tears. Gasping, she tried to control herself. She certainly didn't want him to see her like this, not to see how much dominion he held over her. She wanted him to suffer not her. Grappling for domination of self, she finally brought her breathing under control and stilled her sobs.

"Why are you here?" she asked, the iciness of the Antarctic wasteland in her voice venomous to him.

He took a deep breath. "I'm not expecting you to forgive me for my density, my insensitivity, my apparent indifference-"

"What then?" she cut him off mercilessly. "Therapy costs high, you know. I can't afford a set of sessions every time you make your untimely appearance."

"I just-" he stammered. "I just wanted to tell you, wanted you to know… You … what you are in my life… I was afraid to tell you… Of what it might inadvertently bring to you… I was wrong. I had done more harm that good…"

Silence.

"I know it's too late for anything at all. I have injured you far too much.. Though an apology might do no good, I still want you to know how much I regret my actions. "

After another pause, she answered, "Is that all? You may leave, now."

_No! No, no, no…_ He shut his eyes, gathering his guts for his next words.

"Relena," he said. "No matter how I seemed to be ignoring you or not care about you. I have always loved you. Even when I first met you, I already had. I didn't realize it then. It has taken me nearly ten years to realize that."

Taking her quietness as rejection, he prepared to leave, to slip down the rope to the unfamiliar streets below, to nurse his bleeding heart and curse his foolishness in solitude. But then…

"Heero," she suddenly said. "I have been a fool. I was impatient. I didn't realize how affected you are of what you had gone through, that you might be incapable of conveying what you feel, that you may have needed more time."

He shook his head. "You waited long enough. I was the fool. I didn't realize what I have till I lost you. You left because your presence seemed to bother me. You thought you did it for both of us but it was a mistake. "

"But you didn't come after me."

"I didn't think you'd want me to."

"You didn't, don't, trust me."

"I didn't trust myself."

Silence.

"Relena."

"Yes?" She tried to remain insouciant but her voice betrayed a trace of hope.

"Can we start all over again?" He looked at her expectantly, hoping against hope that her answer be affirmative.

She permitted a half-smile to graze her lips. "Why not?"

"Free tomorrow?"

"I'm free now. Let's warm ourselves."

"Inside?" He raised an eyebrow.

She made a face. "Artificial heating. Let's join the night life."

"And get ourselves drunk?" He sauntered to her side. "You?"

"I've changed." Her eyes glinted promisingly.

"So have I." His mouth was centimeters away her ear, creating sensations along her spine.

"Really?" She smiled coyly. "How?"

"For me to know and you to discover."

"I'm changing then."

He scanned her attire quickly. "I don't know. You look really… nice."

His voice was sensually throaty, making her blush crimson. "Oooh, you _have_ changed…. A lot."

He grinned at her. "Are you up to using a rope instead of the elevator."

She shrugged. "I can learn from you."

"Me?" He looked at her skeptically.

"I adapted your suicidal tendencies, apathy, lunacy… Did I miss anything?"

"My death glare?" He snorted.

She laughed. Boy, did it feel good. Maybe tomorrow won't be that bad after all. Perhaps she'll even enjoy the night life. _If_ they manage to prod themselves to leave before bars shut close for the morning.

End  
22:49:50  
061001

Notes: Grrrr…. I'm no good at this. So how was it? Please give me some feed backs. I'm begging. I grovel at your feet. Please? Even if all you have are complaints I'll accept it. (gulp).

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing ©Sunrise/Sotsu Agency and Bandai. I'm just borrowing the characters to vent out my frustrations on them. I'm feeling rather angst -y this past few days. School has just started. Ho-hum… This is my first serious song fic (what, it didn't seem serious!) and my first Gundam song fic. I was inspired by a very very nice songfic by Seiyo (loved it!). I was kinda hoping for something depressing with my fic like Relena rejecting Heero or something and somebody committing suicide (.;) but… they all ended up OOC. Oh well, my good nature prevailed. Hohohohoho!

First edition:  
23:14:03  
061401

Oh my gosh! I really panicked when I was going through reviews and realized that I have forgotten to put a disclaimer for the song. AHHHHHHHH! I don't wanna go to jail! And I don't have any money at all! So pleeeeeeease don't sue me!

Anyway, better late than never. Be With You was sung by Enrique Iglesias and I don't own it! I can't recall the details but I'm sure the song isn't mine. And I swear I never claimed it to be mine! It's a nice song and I don't own it. Period.  
16:23:19  
070101

2nd ed. 111501 20:40:54

* * *

In-Betweener


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